


Void

by ferrousdraconis



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Child Abuse, M/M, Vanitas POV, third person, tw:emetophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-01-07 07:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18405968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferrousdraconis/pseuds/ferrousdraconis
Summary: There is a hole in his chest.





	1. 1

There’s a hole in his chest and it leaks, dripping void into his head and his heart. It makes his feet numb and his eyes fuzzy and his mouth putrid and vile. He vomits it up, the emptiness inside him, and then he feels nothing. 

 

The first time he sees him it is in a wide courtyard. He watches him train, going through familiar motions taught to him at a different hand. The look on his face is determined but still naive. Still a child playing with wooden swords.

 

It disgusts him.

 

He spits it out, the Flood that forms quickly crushed underfoot. Ignores the twinge of pain that follows. This is nothing, this is sweet release. It is all he knows. It is all he understands.

 

The first time he notices, his other half, he is standing in his room. It is cluttered with books and toys and the fresh remains of a childhood spent loved. A childhood spent at all. It takes no small amount of will not to put Void Gear to his throat and push, and push and push until he is dead, he is gone, until he isn’t looking at him with a face that makes something shift ever so slightly inside of him.

 

Instead he does as his Master bade, informing him of his friend’s departure. The face shifts to naked fear for a moment before settling on something familiar. Something real.

 

Anger.

 

Once again he suppresses the urge to laugh. In its place he allows himself a smile, hidden beneath his helmet. It’s almost too easy to watch him leave, tripping over himself to get outside. From the window he can see Terra taking off onto his Master’s path, leaving the world for the Lanes In Between. His other half follows, still newly acquainted with his Glider. There is no longer a question of if, but only when the pieces will align. All he has to do is wait.

 

HIs smile widens, a twisted and ugly thing. It is a mirror of the man he learned it from.

 

Waiting is boring, he finds. Waiting means time, time spent and wasted like the tar that seeps from his veins when his Master hits him. He trains, but it is spent vomiting up more creatures that do nothing as he razes them until no more come. He sleeps, but it means nothing but passing the hours, food much the same. The ache in his bones is but a reminder of his goal. Soon he would be complete again. But not yet says his Master, he is not strong enough to face him, not strong enough to merge. He has been patient for far too long.

 

He is not patient now.

 

He haunts him, all of them, a shadow against the bright blue sky. Watches Terra fall, Aqua doubt. Watches the boy destroy so many pieces of him that he cannot help but keep him busy. There is no malice in his actions, no anger as he summons more and more of himself just to see how easily he cuts them down. The pain is a constant now, but he has had worse, and it makes him feel something more than the black hole inside of him. He watches, and he hurts, and he hurts.

 

The graveyard is silent now, its sparse occupants no longer present. He lays on the dry, cracked earth, body not responding to his whims, and thinks. Thinks of the battle waged here now, and the ones so long ago. Thinks of hot days and cold nights spent looking up at the same sky. Thinks of his other half, and there’s a twinge in his chest that he can’t banish this time. He thinks, for the first time, of how many stars he can see here.

 

He drifts.

 

He fades.

 

And for a moment, he hurts no more.


	2. 2

He wakes, and for a second despairs waking at all. He gags on the feeling but nothing comes, save a puddle of sludge that quickly dissolves. Wiping his mouth, he looks up to the sunset and screams, rage quickly manifesting into another foul mess. But just a mess, not the creatures that usually spawn and swarm around him; and for a moment there is something foreign in him again beating a steady pace against his ribcage. 

 

The feeling, for what can it be but that, vanishes as he looks around the white sands of Destiny Islands. It looks as he remembers it from his short sojourn to the world, but cleaner somehow, brighter. Too bright to be real.

 

He tries to summon a Dark Portal, but the action is futile. Void Gear is similarly unavailable. Panic, another puddle. Summons his helmet, pleased that it retains its function. If he were real, if he were more than his Master’s weapon, perhaps it would bring him comfort.

 

He sets himself to exploring the area and puts such thoughts from his mind.

 

He is not alone here, he finds. The boy bumbles through the jungle here as he watches from a tree, and he can only scoff at his stupidity. There is no grace in the way he moves, tripping over every stray branch and root, but he has never been graceful. Not in the way he creeps to follow him among the canopy, stalking his every move.

 

A moment, and he leaps.

 

He lands squarely on his back, flattening him against the earth as his breath is knocked out of him. His wrists are quickly pinned, evoking something he files away for another time. Now, he sees his other half's head turns to look at him, observes intently his eyes widening and muscles tensing beneath him. 

 

His first words to him, like he was anyone but his greatest enemy, are a question as to how he got here. He scoffs silently and twists one of the boy's wrists, thankfully shutting him up for now. From his position crouching on his back he can see that he seems to bear none of the injuries incurred in their battle. But he, too, looks unreal in this place. He cannot help but wonder if he is the same.

 

With a tilt of his head, he returns to the foliage above. Reaching a safe vantage point he watches his other half scramble to stand, brushing off dust and leaves. He looks around the jungle frantically, hand instinctively clutching for a weapon that does not appear. He mentally confirms that they are both without Keyblades. The boy, seemingly finding nothing, continues on his path, eyes darting among the trees still.

 

His observation completed for now, he returns to the beach on which he arrived. The waves are unfamiliar, disconcerting, and the sand is too soft. Yet it is there that seems most familiar somehow, worn like an old toy. He has been here but once but the feeling persists, turning his thoughts to steel wool. 

 

He shakes his head of it, uncovers his face for a moment to spit, but it does not waver. So he  pushes the fuzz as far as it will go, unpacks the feeling from earlier. His other half, lying pinned and helpless. The cadence of his breath, the beat of his heart. The heat of his body beneath him as he cried out in pain and he feels himself half hard now. 

 

Ah. A simple emotion then. Lust.

 

He looks at it, turns it around in his hands and feels its edges. Wonders what horrid brood such a thing would create. Tucks it back into his mind for further perusal like a particularly fascinating insect. Interesting, yet best kept behind glass. There was no use in indulging it after all.

 

He sleeps, and for once his nightmares are kind.


	3. 3

The boy finds him eventually, for there are few places to run on such a small island, and he has no qualms about facing him again. He senses him before he emerges from the jungle behind him, before he stops mere feet away in the sand. They stare out at the boundless waves for a moment before his other half speaks, asks him what he knows about their situation. He knows nothing, nor would he deign to answer if he did. From his observations there is no way to escape this paradisiacal hell they’ve been trapped in. And he’s tried.

 

He’s swam until the waves dragged him under and washed up on the shore. He’s scoured every inch of land to find nothing but child’s toys. He’s tried summoning portal after portal until he brings up useless bile with the effort. But there is nothing. He presumes the boy must have done the same if he’s made the effort to seek him out.

 

Apparently his silence is unwelcomed as he’s knocked helmet first into the sand, his other half having bowled him over to start pummeling at his back. He can sense his anger, his frustration, at him and himself and the world at large. Were he a kinder man he may have felt pity when wet drops begin falling on the back of his neck. But he is nothing but what he was made to be, so he simply waits until the strikes weaken, stop, and the boy collapses into him. His soft cries are deep, heaving sobs now, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. 

 

He is in agony, but not one he recognizes. His pain stems from the feeling of loss, one he has never known. Loss of his friends, his family, his idyllic life where the monsters stayed out of sight. HIs other half had lost reality, and some bitter part of him echoes the sentiment. There is nothing left for them now, none of their old lives to go back to. At the thought something lurches in his chest.

 

He lets his helmet disappear.

 

The boy looks up from his misery and catches a golden eye with his blue. They do not speak, but there is something said all the same. They sleep on the beach that night, silently looking up at more stars than either of them can imagine.

 

His other half extends a hand across the yawning chasm between them. He takes it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating goes up next chapter, so have fun with that ✌


	4. Chapter 4

They discover, and there is a they now that he tries not to think about, that they cannot feel pain here. A trip into the leaf litter here, a stray punch there, and there is nothing but at most a bruise that quickly fades. This becomes inconvenient when he first speaks, a comment on the likelihood of his friends’ safety, and the boy looks up at him with eyes like fire before tackling him to the ground. They exchange blows, but no matter their location or severity nothing can bring either down. He hisses in frustration and pins his other half’s wrists only to find the shadow of a hard member pressing against his own. The boy gasps, and he quickly finds another way to sort their differences.

 

They settle their battles with teeth and tongue, struggling to assert their dominance in turn. He’s biting at his throat, now, pulling down his pants until his cock rests in his hand. His other half does not let this slide however, clawing at his suit and biting his lips until he lets it fall away. There is only now which of them will submit to the pleasure first, and once again he finds himself defeated. There is so much new to learn now that his world is more than pain, and though there is no gentleness in the boy’s actions he feels the shadow of comfort nonetheless. Feels, and for once cannot rid himself of the emotions surging through him.

 

His other half stands, panting but triumphant. He pulls his pants and boxers back up, refastens his belt, all while watching his adversary still dazed with his release cooling on the damp earth. He lets his suit slide back over him and joins the boy in standing. HIs helmet follows, as it does when he loses, and his other half grins at the sight. He swats the back of his head and the boy has the audacity to laugh at him, a small but bright thing that makes him back up a step.

 

He covers the motion by turning and walking off into the undergrowth. His other half follows, still smiling, and they proceed back to the usual beach.

 

Or they would if not for the figure standing on the shore.

 

They turn, short black hair blowing in the ocean breeze, and look at the boys standing at the edge of the jungle.

 

“Hello.” they say, and everything changes.


	5. Chapter 5

Their name, as he comes to learn, is Xion. Though the information is quickly cast aside, among most of the other things they say. Axel, Roxas, the Organization. All are useless trivialities compared to the reality of their situation.

 

They were inside a heart. The heart of the boy who had saved them what seemed so little ago. His original as it were. His name is Sora, though that too is thrown to the back of his mind to be forgotten. 

 

Names did not matter. Time too was irrelevant. The ten years that they said had passed in the outside world would not free them, would not let them battle.

 

It would not make him whole again.

 

The impact of his fist against a nearby tree makes the little one and his other half jump from where they were engrossed in swapping memories. He can already feel the emotions burgeoning inside him, clawing up his throat and through his skin. But here the boy will see, will be reminded of the sort of creature he is. And some small part of him, a part that weighs heavier every second of their internment, protests.

 

So he stands, helmet already in place, and stalks back into the jungle. He ignores the little one’s confusion, his other half’s call. 

 

He finds somewhere to rest, and retches until every last inch of him is purged of feeling again. 

 

But no matter how much he expels from every last orifice and pore, the beat in his chest remains.


	6. Chapter 6

When he returns, and he does return from a sense of morbid curiosity if nothing else, they are waiting for him. The boy stands with his arms crossed indignantly, the little one looking concerned. Concern is the last thing he wants, so he faces the anger instead. Of course there are harsh words for him, words he would return if he was not so bone-weary from something he cannot or will not name. His other half goes on for a time about safety and worry and ‘if you hadn’t come back I would drag you back’. All of which are ignored of course, but give him time to concoct a theory. 

 

In short, there was no basis to his claims. There could be no danger in this world without pain, thus any concern would be unsubstantiated. The prospect of being dragged back was amusing, yet once again unnecessary: the island may have been small, but he was more than capable of making himself elusive if needed.

 

So he is forced to come to a conclusion that causes a fit of hoarse laughter to rise from his throat. The boy looks alarmed at the sound before quickly lapsing back into a scowl, hands balled into fists. The red on his face makes it worse, makes him feel the prick of tears at the corner of his eyes. He stops, breathless, to disperse his helmet and take wheezing breaths.

 

“You, you actually… you actually  _ give a shit, _ oh hell that’s  _ priceless _ !”

 

His other half sputters, screams a few choice expletives that he’s quite sure Aqua wouldn’t approve of, and stomps off to the network of treehouses. The little one, still left with him as he wipes the water from his face, looks at him with a frown. They seem perturbed too, and he waits for the inevitable, but it doesn’t come. He’s pretty sure that was the first time he’s even spoken around them.

 

“Well,” he says, head cocked, “what’s your problem?”

 

They extend a hand and he fights not to flinch back, bares his teeth instead. It stops just short of his face.

 

“You’re still crying…” they murmur, and he snorts derisively. Swipes a hand to his eyes and finds it covered in inky black. 

 

It is only then that his vision blurs and he feels himself shaking, shudders echoing through his body. There is pain in his head and his heart and it seems once again like he is being rent in two. He feels it, but this is not, cannot be his own. The boy, that cursed boy, has done this to him, but his rage is overpowered by grief.

 

He falls onto his knees in the sand, and knows nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

He’s ripped from unconsciousness by the feeling of a hand in his hair. Immediately he springs up into a crouch, snarling and ready (and, somewhere deep he refuses to acknowledge, absolutely terrified. He was gone, he was  _ vulnerable _ , in a place where anything could happen without pain, without interruption, and gods his Master’s blade was not his only weapon.)

 

The little one, who’d apparently had his head on their lap ( _ and why would he deserve any sort of comfort _ ), looks at him with that same wrenching  _ concern _ again. He doesn’t know how long he’d been frozen in that position but when he stands his muscles protest. He glares at them, spits out a warning, and makes his way to where he can feel his other half stirring from his own slumber.

 

He’s perched himself at the highest room in the trees, the place that they had grudgingly worked to make a bed once he’d started complaining about sleeping on the sand. The boy is curled up in its center, tattered blanket tossed to the side. His eyes are red when he turns over to look at him standing in the doorway, and they spend long seconds staring at each other. Each is searching for something, though his other half seems to lose before it even starts. He sniffs and rubs at his face for a long, tenuous moment before letting out a weary sigh.

 

“What do you want Vanitas?”

 

The question is deceptively simple, and simple in its deceptiveness. The boy had never been one for complexity. So he answers in kind.

 

“Who cares?”

 

His other half, and by now he should not underestimate him, knows what he means. Knows that he has lost purpose, lost meaning in this place. What he wants is not in question, as it never has been. The path has changed but the ruts still extend far behind him. 

 

What he wanted has never mattered.

 

So the boy sits up, patting the space on the bed next to him. He walks forward and sits there for lack of reasonable protest. Slowly, carefully, his other half leans against him. They sit, staring at the setting sun (for the days are indeterminable but the night always comes), eyes glazed and unseeing. His heart, that traitorous organ, beats faster when the boy places his head on his shoulder, and he does not know why. Does not know whose feelings these are but his other half’s surely. 

 

Yet he had scorned him, forsaken him.

 

And still, the maddening thump in his chest continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are my life fuel just an fyi.


	8. Chapter 8

Life, or whatever facsimile of it they have here, goes on. They, and there is somewhat of a trio now if the boy had anything to say about it, coexist. The little one and his other half speak often, laughing amongst themselves and smiling at each other. He looks on and feels something rise in him, quickly hacking it onto the sand where they can’t see. The liquid shimmers like an oil slick, reflecting the shifting colors of the setting sun. He stares into it for a moment, eyes narrowed.

 

...That was unusual.

 

His gaze is drawn away by the sound of a splash. Had the idiots tried swimming again? The sight of the little one wading into the water would confirm this if not for the figure floating a few yards from shore. At first glance it seems the boy has finally gone and drowned (and the thought absolutely does  _ not _ make him fear for a fleeting second), but his clothes match the other intruder's. His other half helps get him to shore, all the while staring at a face so similar yet completely different, to him at least. 

 

It is not as old as the boy's is, nor does he carry the same peaceful expression his other half does in sleep (not that he'd been watching). This boy's face is scowling, eyebrows furrowed. They stay that way as his ocean blue (and god is he sick of that color) eyes open. He looks around, first to the little one (which makes him relax) and then to the other face hovering above him.

 

He blinks.

 

His other half blinks back.

 

They scramble away from each other in unison. It’s almost comical really, but he’d never learned how to laugh from anything but malice. Still, he snorts as each of them looks the other over, one wary and the other surprised. They are, at least, equally transparent. The little one breaks their silent dick-measuring contest by tackling the newcomer to the sand, sobbing into his black coat. He quickly diverts his attention to comforting them, hesitantly placing one hand on their back and the other in their hair. He would feel like an intruder if he actually gave a shit.

 

Eventually same-face notices him, eyes widening before he holds out his hands (both of them? why?) to summon a keyblade. Of course nothing happens. He looks almost panicked, but his face settles on caution again.

 

“Where am I, who are you, and why do you look like Sora?!” he asks, rather impolitely, but the fire in his words is a nice change from his other company. So he grins, propping his face in a hand.

 

“I dunno pipsqueak, why does Sora look like me?” he replies. Immediately same-face has stood, fists clenched by his sides, and he readies himself for a fight. But before they can meet, the boy is in front of him, arms spread (protectively? no). He can’t see his expression, but he can feel the surge of determination that spreads through him. Determination to what? Fight this random stranger for him? Why? He’s almost insulted by the suggestion that he can’t fend for himself, but that strange wooly feeling has taken up residence in his heart again and he can’t be.

 

“Let’s not fight over this now. He doesn’t know why, just like you don’t know why we look the same. Right?” your other half says, and same-face’s scowl lessens just a bit. The little one is standing next to him and puts a hand on his arm. He drops his stance, but remains tense in the way that lets him know that the kid has a perpetual stick up his ass.

  
“Fine then,” same-face starts, “tell me what you  _ do  _ know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kids, guess who's back with an update. RnR blah blah blah, but I'd rather you check out my other fic Remnants. It's for little more than a crackship but I like it damnit, and if I see enough interest I'll put up more chapters. So if you end up liking the fic or just like my writing please give me a sign or it's getting thrown in the dumpster.

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback as always is appreciated, next chapter will be out sometime.


End file.
